


And I Would Hide My Face In You

by amerande



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bodyswap, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Consensual Possession, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Headcanon, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mostly Fluff, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Not Omniscient But Sufficiently Nosy, Past Tense, Possession, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Pre-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Sharing a Body, Sharing a Brain, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Very Little Angst At All Really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 02:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21468769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerande/pseuds/amerande
Summary: It had been six thousand years, more or less, since Aziraphale had last been without a corporation. He'd forgotten how different some things were.OR: The one where they share a body.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 301
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	And I Would Hide My Face In You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curlycrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlycrowley/gifts).

> A gift for a friend. I've never written a gift for a friend, especially not one with smut in it, before. Yikes, maybe. 
> 
> This is an exploration of my relatively idiosyncratic idea of what possession might be like, especially when both parties are, y'know, not human. 
> 
> _Some dialogue is in italics_ to indicate that it is not said out loud.

**2019\. Saturday, the last day of the world. **

Aziraphale was surprised at himself; he really ought to have noticed the fact of his discorporation sooner. Heaven had always felt empty when he came to give his status reports, but this time it had not been an an emptiness of _absence_, which was all he had felt for the past six thousand years, but the stifling, smothered emptiness of repression. It ought to have been a dead giveaway—probably would have been, if he hadn’t been so focused on the immediacy of his need to get back to Earth.

Now, though—now, in the return journey, the difference was inescapable. To feel everything _through _himself, rather than having most sensations and experiences buffered by the skin and sinew of a body—it had once been natural to him, as an angel and a being of aetherial, not physical, making; he was relearning his mother tongue after a lifetime with a second language. Currents of emotion flowed through the air and he tasted, heard, and felt each one. He let them guide him down to Earth and grew to love humanity all over again as their hopes and excitements (and yes, their fears and angers too) crowded up around him.

What he wouldn’t have given to _not _be so aware when he found Crowley in the pub. His oldest—perhaps only—friend was wallowing in a morass of despair such as Aziraphale had never known. It was nearly enough to keep him at bay, to drive him off.

He sat until it was not so new and raw, until the livewire spark of it had gentled to a hum. Then he concentrated and made himself manifest.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said almost instantly, squinting up at him, “are you there?”

“I suppose so,” he said, relaxing a little as some of the tense awfulness drained from the atmosphere. “Never been on Earth without a corporation before.” Then, cautiously—“What brought you back from Alpha Centauri?”

Crowley let out a heavy sigh and worried the bottle in his hands. “Never went to begin with.”

Aziraphale waited.

The demon continued with obvious reluctance. “After your call, I was trying to find you—but then the bookshop—and I thought—so instead…” He gestured loosely at their surroundings as if that was sufficient explanation.

“The...bookshop?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s not there anymore. It burned down.” The look of sympathy—not to mention the _feeling_ of it—made the news even worse, somehow.

“I...I see.”

“I’m really sorry,” Crowley added, and it wrung Aziraphale’s heart.

“Not at all,” he said, wanting to ease Crowley’s distress. “No, it’s just that there was a book that I took my notes in. I would have liked you to get it. It was _The Nice and Accurate—_“

“_Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_!” Crowley interjected, holding the selfsame book up and pointing at it triumphantly. “Yes! I took that one, look.”

“Clever you,” Aziraphale said with a heartfelt smile. “It’s all in there. Name, address—didn’t get his shoe size, so sorry.”

Crowley grunted at him in dismissal as he opened up the book and took out the sheets of Aziraphale’s notes. “Where are you?” he asked, leafing through the papers. “I’ll come find you.”

“No, you need to get to Tadfield. I’ll find a body and meet you there.”

Crowley shut the book in a rush and snapped his head up, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “No!” he said, leaning forward, his whole body drawn into lines of tension, “Angel, don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

Aziraphale stayed still, surprised and not a little alarmed by the urgency in his friend’s voice. “My dear,” he said, “I really must have a body. Whatever it is we need to do, I’m no good for it like this.”

For a moment, Crowley seemed to chew on that thought, his taut posture unchanging. Then he nodded his head decisively.

“Well—why not this one?” he asked.

Aziraphale looked around.

“_This_ one,” Crowley said again, emphatically, indicating himself.

”Oh! I mean, surely that’s obvious,” said Aziraphale by way of answer.

Surely it was obvious because they were an angel and a demon and had nothing whatsoever in common (aside from the fact that both had been created of the same aetherial substrate, and their six thousand years of shared history, and all the other things they did in fact have in common), but more importantly: Aziraphale had recently been forcibly reminded of just how exposed celestial beings really were, how much feeling and meaning was hidden away by the vagaries of the trappings of humanity. It was obvious because the only thing keeping them together through the years had, paradoxically, been the layers of careful protection Aziraphale had built up, the cautious distance he had learned to keep. In such close quarters with Crowley, how much might he accidentally reveal?

And also, what if they _did _explode?

“Nah, not a bit,” Crowley said, waving the thought aside. “Anyway, not losing you again. C’mon, hop in.”

Aziraphale found that he couldn’t examine that casual statement too closely; there was a bright edge to it that frightened him as much as it enticed him.

“Crowley,” he said delicately, “you’re a very private person and I think there’s a certain amount of...intimacy, in such a thing as you’re suggesting.”

The demon shrugged. “After all this time, angel, how bad could it be?”

Aziraphale was reluctant to find out.

“When was the last time you were without a corporation?” he asked.

“Same as you, I suppose.”

“It won’t be like it has been,” Aziraphale explained. “We shan’t need to...I’ll hear you better, even if you don’t...vocalize.”

“Sure, okay,” Crowley said. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, very well,” Aziraphale said after a moment’s hesitation. “But only because we’re wasting time. Go outside first. There’s a chance this could be disastrous and everything in here seems flammable.”

Crowley grimaced and stood up, dropped a few bills on the table, then walked only a little unsteadily out to the street. Once there, he turned to Aziraphale’s incorporeal form and held out a hand.

“Sober up first, if you please.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but seemed to do as he was asked. He beckoned again.

If he had a corporation, Aziraphale would have paused to take a breath in. To collect himself. As it was, he firmly hid away all the innermost parts of himself, drew a veil over his most private thoughts and desires. Perhaps it would be enough, he hoped, so long as he was careful.

Then he reached out. He felt a tingling buzz when his insubstantial hand met Crowley’s, but little else—certainly no sense that he could now inhabit Crowley’s corporation. He tried again, stretching out not just with his hand, but with his mind as well, bending all his concentration on the feeling he had of Crowley’s presence beside him.

Then, from one instant to the next, he was no longer looking at Crowley. In fact, he was no longer looking at anything at all. It was dark, and he felt the physical sensation of closed eyelids.

The next sensation was not a physical one—it was the powerful awareness of Crowley’s nearness. He could feel Crowley (or more accurately, Crowley’s _feelings_) brushing up against, beside, around his own as they shared his corporation.

He thrilled to it. He thrilled to it, and worked very hard to keep that to himself.

All in the space of a second, a wave of impressions washed over the angel. First was surprised wonder as Crowley recognized that the possession had in fact worked, relief, then a tentative welcome—Crowley focused on projecting the feeling _to_ him.

_Thank you, _he projected back.

Crowley’s reactions rang through Aziraphale like the chiming of bells: shock to hear Aziraphale’s voice without speech, perplexity at the situation, delight at their success and the angel’s nearness.

Crowley opened their eyes.

_Oh_, breathed Aziraphale, and Crowley’s corporation breathed out with him. Everything seemed different. Beyond the shade of Crowley’s sunglasses, the world was painted in blues and golds. The other colors were still there, mostly, but tinted and colored over in a surreal effect, and there was a sort of dreamy blur that obscured details in the distance.

At the same time as he noticed their vision, he felt Crowley’s tension. The demon was braced, worrying, he seemed to be preparing himself for disgust. Aziraphale felt him trying to pull away, to hide, felt shame rising up like gorge in their throat—

_No_, he said, as firmly and gently as he could. He held Crowley to himself, stayed beside him and did not let him flee. _Your eyes are lovely_, Aziraphale said, and he offered up to the demon his thoughts, shared with him how beautiful the world was as seen through these eyes.

In response, he felt shock and delight, and a bashful appreciation of the compliment. Aziraphale shared his own pleasure at that bashfulness with Crowley, and was pleased to find it reciprocated with open affection—and then suddenly, as clear as words, he heard the demon’s thoughts turn to fear, intense anxiety: what if Aziraphale should _see, _what if he should _hear_, what if he should learn about—

_Stop that_, Aziraphale commanded, not unkindly. _If you don’t want someone to hear a secret, don’t think it at them_.

_I’d forgotten_, was all Crowley said.

_I had, too_._ It’ll be okay. Just try for a little restraint, hmm? _

_I’m a demon. Not really known for that_. _Shall we? _

_Yes_, Aziraphale agreed. _I’ll leave the locomotion to you, if you don’t mind_.

It wasn’t far to the Bentley, but Aziraphale marveled as they went. This body felt so _different_, even in its movements. It was like he had twice as many joints, somehow. Everything was lithe and sinuous and what _was _that thing he was doing with his hips?

Aziraphale’s train of thought came to an abrupt halt as he noticed Crowley’s smug amusement and realized he hadn’t been keeping those observations to himself. The demon chuckled and took an extra jaunty step as if to prove a point; Aziraphale didn’t deign to respond to that.

Once they were sat in the car, Aziraphale noticed the smell of ash. He had noticed it on Crowley’s corporation as they walked, but the enclosed space made it sharper and stronger. _The fire_, he realized, and then felt Crowley shrink away from the thought. A brief flash flickered across his mind’s eye: the bookshop in flames, smoke everywhere, the ceiling falling in, a jet of water crashing through the window and into him. Crowley began breathing harder, his mind racing too rapidly for Aziraphale to keep up with. He caught the impression of freezing fear, and anger, and a yawning chasm of loneliness. The demon’s thoughts were a jumble of words and images. _It was awful, you were gone, I couldn’t find you, I thought—_

_I’m here_, Aziraphale interrupted. _I’m right here. Let’s go._

_Right. _Crowley cleared his throat and then repeated it aloud. “Right.”

Crowley started the Bentley and pulled away from the curb. “Best if you not interfere with this part,” he said.

_I _can _drive, you know_, Aziraphale chided. _Very safely, too, I might add. _

“Safe isn’t what we need,” Crowley responded, and Aziraphale felt as he pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

Before long, they had left London proper behind them. Aziraphale spent most of the ride trying to not take up too much space in Crowley’s body, trying to keep his thoughts quiet. Crowley seemed to be getting more circumspect, as well. They drove in silence, with frisson of urgency stretching between them rather than any directed thought.

When they came to a standstill on the A40 towards Oxfordshire, Crowley began swearing. He leaned forward, and together they peered into the distance—where a great wall of fire could be seen rising up out of the motorway.

_I don’t recall that being a sign of the apocalypse_, Aziraphale thought.

There was an immediate response from Crowley, an embarrassment that seemed to come over him slowly, like a blush. _Well…_Crowley thought, and the word was colored with a memory: a dark night, a bog, some construction signs.

_Wait. You did this? _Aziraphale asked. If he’d had a voice, it would have been very shrill.

The sound of low chanting came in through the window. Humans were getting out of their cars, eyes fixed on the fire, mouths forming words they couldn’t possibly understand.

_Er, yeah_, Crowley admitted.

It was too absurd for Aziraphale to be really angry at. He gave a sort of mental laugh. _I’m normally wrong about that_, he said. _Normally blaming you for the humans’ exploits. _

_This one’s all me_.

_What was that I said, _Aziraphale asked innocently, _about evil always containing the seeds of its own destruction? _

_Shut up_, Crowley thought back at him, but Aziraphale knew his heart wasn’t in it.

_I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s here now. How are we going to get through?_

_We aren’t, angel. That’s hellfire. _Beneath the determined calm of Crowley’s words, he could hear a thready pulse of fear. He could feel their muscles tensing.

_Let’s check the book_, he suggested, but he allowed Crowley to decide whether or not to do it. He was acutely aware of his presence _in _Crowley’s corporation and wanted very much to respect his autonomy.

_Don’t sweat it_, Crowley said, and Aziraphale realized again that he’d been thinking out loud, as it were.

The demon flipped open _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies_ and began thumbing through the pages at random. He left the actual reading to Aziraphale.

_Wait, go back_, Aziraphale instructed as something caught their eye, but it was lost.

“You’d think she’d have made an index,” Crowley grumbled under his breath.

_Even if she had, it’d have been useless. What could she possibly have filed _this _under? _

“Well what’s the bloody point of divine prophecy if—“

Someone ripped their glasses off. Crowley turned their head, and they saw Hastur in the passenger’s seat, breaking the sunglasses in half.

Before Aziraphale had time to react, he was being smothered. Crowley covered him up, pressed him down into the core of their corporation, wrapped around him like a shroud.

_Don’t move, _he heard Crowley say. _Don’t breathe. Don’t blink. Don’t even _think, _angel. _

Aziraphale would have responded, but whatever it was Crowley was doing was evidently working—he felt sleepy, bleary in a way he’d never experienced, even with six thousand years in a mostly human body. He fell into a stupor, buried under Crowley as if under layers and layers of soft, heavy blankets.

Distantly, he could hear Hastur talking. He could hear the rumble of the corporation Crowley was sharing with him as Crowley spoke, too. But it all seemed so far away, and like so much fuss and bother to try to listen properly. It was like being at the bottom of a well, or in a cave, and hearing and seeing the outside world only through echoes and refractions.

Amidst the vague noises and the weight of Crowley pressing down on him, Aziraphale became aware of growing heat.

_Angel_, Crowley called to him.

_Yes? _he said, his mental voice so quiet he wasn’t even sure Crowley could hear him.

_I’m sorry if this doesn’t work_.

Aziraphale half-thought that he should have some sort of reaction to that, but everything was just so heavy. He settled instead for projecting a sense of gratitude and trust, and then allowed Crowley to push him further down into this sleep-like state.

_Yes, good, right here, _Crowley said, and he guided Aziraphale down and down. Aziraphale had the impression of a small nest, a cocoon of utter darkness at the heart of Crowley’s very being. He burrowed into it and felt the darkness close in around him until he couldn’t see anything at all or hear anything but the thudding of Crowley’s heart and the echo of his thoughts: _I’ve got you. _

He felt, as if in a dream, Crowley’s wings come out and wrap around him, around them both, as everything grew hotter.

Crowley’s heart was racing. He was shouting now, and the heat grew to an awful crescendo. Aziraphale became awake again all at once with the sudden knowledge that he was suffocating, that the fire outside would sear through the feathers of Crowley’s wings and the blanket of Crowley’s presence and eat away at him. He gasped, or tried to gasp, and screamed, or tried to scream—

And then they were through.

Aziraphale looked again through Crowley’s eyes as the demon’s wings withdrew and they could both see that they had made it. Sweat and soot clung to them, as well as the scorching smell of singe and ash, and they ached, but they were through.

Palpable relief radiated from Crowley, but under it Aziraphale could sense worry and sorrow for taking such a risk. He shook their head and answered with waves of his own gratitude, his admiration for Crowley’s quick thinking and determination.

_That was remarkable, my dear, _he said, and then words failed him, so he projected the strongest feeling of praise he could summon.

Unselfconscious delight suffused Crowley’s presence, and Aziraphale delighted in _that_.

They sped along the road. As they went, Crowley shared his perspective of what had happened when he had been hiding Aziraphale; the angel watched a memory of Hastur’s taunting malice and then his destruction. In response, he offered up the impressions _he’d _had, and more gratitude just for good measure.

_Pay me back by getting directions_, Crowley thought gruffly as they sped through Tadfield. _Haven’t got a bloody clue which way the airbase is. _

So it was that Aziraphale took over and, smiling pleasantly despite the odd sight he knew they made in the flaming Bentley, got instructions from an elderly townsperson out for a stroll.

They didn’t even bother to slow down as they approached the security gate at the airfield. As one, they raised their right hand and snapped; Crowley opened the gate and Aziraphale translocated the guard, who had been aiming a gun at them and shouting some sort of order.

_I do hope I didn’t send him somewhere unpleasant._

_You need more practice_, Crowley admonished_. _Then, a moment later:_ He’s on the Isle of Wight, by the way. _

_Well that’s all right then_.

They careened through the quiet base until they saw a strange tableau: four children and a dog standing on the pavement, one of them stabbing into a tall, lean man with a very familiar sword. As Crowley threw the Bentley into park and pulled their corporation up and out of the car, they saw the lean man drip and fizzle into nothingness. The child dropped his sword; it and a pair of brass scales fell to the ground and landed next to a blackened crown. Aziraphale and Crowley and the four children and the dog all focused on the dark figure who had been standing behind the lean man.

_Death_, Aziraphale observed.

_Oh, you think?_ Crowley said as the dark figure spoke to one of the boys, opened wings of night, and then winked suddenly from sight.

Leaving just the four children and one dog, who turned to look at Crowley and Aziraphale in the body they shared.

_That one, _Aziraphale said, directing their eyes. _With the curly hair. That’s Adam. The boy. _

_The Antichrist,_ Crowley said.

They stood still for what may have been only a second, but in the space they shared inside Crowley’s corporation, time stretched out, heavy with discomfort. Aziraphale sensed an intense reluctant from Crowley that matched his own.

_Were you really going to kill him? _Crowley asked.

_...No, _Aziraphale admitted. _Perhaps we _should_, but I find that I just can’t— _

_Yeah_, Crowley said, and then he opened their mouth and spoke aloud as they walked toward the group. “Kid! C’mon, let’s call off the apocalypse. Whatever world-ending you were planning on doing, you can just forget about it—“

_Really, Crowley_, Aziraphale said. He focused on taking control of their speech and tried again. “What my friend here was trying to say, Adam—“

But he, too, was interrupted, this time by Adam. “Why are you two people?” the boy asked. “That’s not right. Stop it.”

Aziraphale felt—on his own and from Crowley—icy fear for a fleeting instant. He reached out, and Crowley reached back, clinging instinctively—and then there was an awful silence that roared in the vacuum where Crowley’s presence had been, and he was standing once again in his own familiar corporation, looking out at the world from his own two eyes. For a moment, he hated it.

Then he turned and saw Crowley beside him, and so it was all right. He reached out again, this time with his corporation, and Crowley reached back too, and they held each other close. As he prepared to let go of the too-short embrace, Aziraphale _felt_ for Crowley, and found that sense of him still there—less tangible, certainly, but still there. Perhaps it was too much, but he projected to Crowley the momentary loss he’d felt at the separation, and he was soothed when Crowley echoed the sentiment back to him.

_I lost you once, _Crowley said in the quiet between them, and then he couldn’t continue.

_I know. I’m sorry. We’re going to end this. And I’m going to do better. _

“Right,” Crowley said aloud. “Adam, was it? You know what these were?” He pointed at the three Horsepeople’s remnants. “They were the very _first _of your many problems. The next ones are the armies of Heaven and Hell.”

“Well we took care of one problem,” a new voice said as the American woman they’d hit on the country road came walking up to the odd group. “Wait! You’re the guys who took my book!”

“Didn’t take it,” Crowley corrected instantly. “You left it. That’s different.”

Aziraphale frowned at the demon until he rolled his eyes and tossed the _Prophecies _over to her.

“Anyway,” the woman said after she’d caught it, “we stopped the nuclear war! Well, Newt here did.”

“That’s not going to matter in a minute,” said Crowley, “Because Heaven doesn’t need bombs to—“

He was cut off by a tremendous roll of thunder. The pavement sizzled and the Archangel Gabriel appeared in a flash. At the same time, another being—one who looked decidedly more Hellish—resolved in front of them, with pitch boiling under their shoes.

“Hullo, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said with all the calm he could muster. It wasn’t much.

“Lord Beelzebub,” Crowley said, sketching a mocking bow.

“Traitor,” Beelzebub said flatly, and Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Gabriel just glowered at Aziraphale for a moment, before he and Beelzebub stepped forward, clearly making for Adam. As one, Aziraphale and Crowley placed themselves in front of the two celestial lords. They stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, with Adam behind them.

“He’s just a boy,” Aziraphale said.

“He izz the boy who will sztart Armageddon,” Beelzebub answered.

“Not if he doesn’t want to,” Crowley said.

Gabriel shoved past them. “Little boy,” he said in a voice that was almost—but not quite—kind, “you need to restart this whole...thing. God is counting on it. God is counting on _you_.”

Crowley spoke up. “Make sure you tell him what happens afterwards,” he said pointedly. “What with the wiping out of the human race. All your friends, Adam. Everyone.”

There was a pause.

“Your dog,” Crowley added as an afterthought.

For the first time since Aziraphale had started watching him, Adam seemed taken aback. “Hang on,” the boy said to Gabriel. “You mean you’re an angel? And God...God sent you here to…?”

Gabriel shot a nasty look at Crowley, then at Aziraphale, and then at Crowley again before he spoke. “Let’s not get hung up on the fiddly details, okay?” he said with forced cheer. “The important thing is the Great Plan. That’s the point of all of this. The Great Plan says this has to happen, so you need to help _make _it happen.”

Behind him, Beelzebub nodded.

_Interesting to see them united on this_, Aziraphale thought—and then he let out a soft breath as something occurred to him.

“Pardon,” he said, moving so that he was once again between Gabriel and Adam. “When you say the Great Plan—”

Gabriel cut him off. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough, Aziraphale? Maybe it’s time for you to shut up?”

Even through the shield of his corporation, Aziraphale could feel the raw fury boiling in Crowley; he dearly hoped that neither of their superiors were paying attention.

He gave a tight-lipped smile and continued. “When you say the Great Plan, is that the same as God’s _ineffable _plan?”

Gabriel just blinked at him.

Beelzebub spoke up. “It izz written…”

“Yes, I know, the rule of six thousand years, and then the fire and the blood. That’s the Great Plan all right. But my question is, is it the ineffable one as well?”

“This is nonsense,” said Gabriel. “Surely they’re the same.”

Crowley grinned suddenly, and Aziraphale thought he caught a flash of pride from the demon.

“I mean you can’t know, can you?” Crowley asked. “Seems a little strange, doesn’t it, that God would post up the outline for everyone to see beforehand? And it’d be a real shame, Gabe, if you thought you were doing what She wanted but you were actually playing into the hands of the Enemy…” he looked meaningfully at Beelzebub, who snarled at him.

Gabriel looked back and forth between Aziraphale and Crowley in a fluster, then turned back to Beelzebub.

“It _izz _written,” Beelzebub repeated.

“That’s the problem, though,” Crowley said. “If it’s written, it’s hardly ineffable, is it?”

“God does not play _games _with the universe,” Gabriel said, drawing himself up. The effect of his pronouncement was rather ruined when Crowley burst out laughing at him.

“Where have _you _been?” gasped the demon, doubled over with incredulous mirth.

Gabriel withdrew in the face of this ignominy; he and Beelzebub walked some distance away to regroup. As soon as they were out of range, Crowley turned and started talking urgently to Adam, his voice coming low and fast, but Aziraphale kept his eyes on the Archangel and the demon lord. The way they were speaking to each other made him deeply nervous.

Eventually Gabriel turned to look at him, said something Aziraphale couldn’t make out to Beelzebub—and then the two figures disappeared with a crack of light and the sharp smell of sulphur.

“I don’t like the look he had,” Aziraphale said, half to himself.

“What’re they going to do?” asked Adam.

“Not sure,” Aziraphale admitted. “But they won’t have just given up.”

Then he staggered as Crowley howled with pain, and a wrenching stab of panic shot straight through him. The demon fell to the ground; it seemed almost as if he was being pulled into the pavement and below it.

“No!” Crowley said, and then he started swearing.

“What is it?” Adam asked, and his voice was shaking nearly as badly as Aziraphale’s whole body.

“They told your father,” Crowley said. The words were ground out as if saying them had cost him dearly. He continued to writhe on the ground.

Despair settled over Aziraphale. He felt a ringing in his ears and a buckling under his feet.

“My dad?”

“Satan,” Aziraphale explained.

“But that’s not—”

“Yeah, actually, it is,” said Crowley. “Ow—Fuck, he’s...he’s almost here.”

Aziraphale bent down and reached out to his best friend, touching him gently.

_It was worth a shot,_ Crowley said without words. _It was nice knowing you. _

_No don’t say that, my dear._ Aziraphale responded._ We can’t give up now. We’re so close. _

_Satan, Aziraphale, did you hear me? We are _fucked_. _

“No,” Aziraphale said, as if speaking the word out loud would make it more true. “No this can’t be it.” He picked up War’s sword and it burst into bright flame as he stood up and took a step forward—placing himself between Adam and Crowley and the pit opening in the concrete ahead of him.

“Crowley,” he called back. “Think of something _now_, or—” he couldn’t finish the sentence. His throat was too tight for words. He reached out, mind-to-mind. _Please_, he thought. _Be extraordinary, my love_. Along with the thought, he sent along all the hope and determination he could muster; he opened himself entirely to Crowley.

In response, he felt a surge of wonder—and an almighty _heave _as Crowley used everything that the two possessed together to pull them out of Time. One moment, they were under brooding clouds in England at the end of the world; the next, they stood under the sun, just outside of Eden. Adam was with them and looking around in amazement.

For what felt like the first time in forever, Aziraphale breathed in clean air. Crowley, no longer emanating horrible pain, put on a fresh pair of glasses and stood tall.

“Where are we?” Adam demanded. “And what’s going on?”

“Listen, Adam,” Crowley said intently. “Your father is coming. For you, or for all of us, I don’t know.”

“But my dad doesn’t even know who—“ began Adam, but Aziraphale interrupted him.

“Not your _dad_, at least not who you think of as your dad.”

“Your other father. Satan,” said Crowley. “He’s coming up and he is really, _really _pissed off.”

“Well, what...what am I supposed to do about that?”

“Dunno,” said Crowley. “None of this was supposed to happen, as far as anyone can tell, so there’s nothing you’re _supposed_ to do. What do you _want_ to do?”

Before Adam could respond, Crowley stumbled. “It’s—slipping,” he said, his voice tense with exertion.

“I’m just a kid,” Adam said, looking at Aziraphale as if for help.

Aziraphale forced his voice to stay calm as he answered. “That’s not a bad thing to be, you know—yourself. I was so worried about what you might be, even what I hoped you would be—but you’re human. Innately human. Look at everything you’ve managed so far, just by being...wonderfully human. By being the person your parents raised you to be, not what God or Satan or anybody else planned for.”

Crowley nodded. “Reality will listen to you right now, Adam. You can change things. But you’ll have to do it fast.” He was panting under the strain of keeping them in this pocket outside of time.

Aziraphale reached out to bolster Crowley however he could. He also held a hand out to Adam. “Whatever happens, we’re with you.”

Adam nodded and took his hand.

Crowley was almost on his knees. He took Adam’s hand in one of his own, and he raised the other up.

“Whatever you’re going to do, get ready to do it.”

He snapped. As he did, Aziraphale could feel him reaching out; he reciprocated, and they held each other close, Aziraphale feeding Crowley all the strength and stability he had as they reentered reality. Together, they watched as Adam stepped forward to face down the yawning crack in the pavement and the dark form that was pulling itself up out of it. As close as they were, Aziraphale could feel of Crowley’s revulsion, and fear, and dreadful, compelled devotion as Satan clawed his way into the world.

And then, with no fanfare at all, it was over. The chasm did not snap closed; it simply did not exist. The smoke did not dissipate; it was not. And there, in the distance, was a car coming towards them all.

“_That’s_ my dad,” Adam said decisively.  
  


* * *

“Oh. That bus is to Oxford.”

“It’ll go to London,” Crowley said, holding his hand out to catch the driver’s attention.

They’d taken one look at what remained of the Bentley and written it off as hopeless. Crowley had seemed less distressed about it than Aziraphale had anticipated; perhaps there was simply a limit on how much of that sort of thing one could process in one day.

Crowley boarded the bus first and sat down near a window in the middle; Aziraphale sat right next to him, unwilling to be any farther away than absolutely necessary.

After a quiet moment, watching Crowley’s face the whole while, Aziraphale moved slightly and took one of Crowley’s hands in his own.

The demon looked down slowly, then gave an absentminded little nod and squeezed his fingers.

When they were touching, Aziraphale could feel the same sort of hum of connection as when he’d first reached out to Crowley before possessing his corporation. He idly wondered how much proximity mattered, or if now that they knew it _was _possible, it would remain possible regardless of distance.

All he felt from Crowley at the moment was exhaustion. He sat with that feeling, and with Crowley, as the bus drove through the night. Eventually Crowley shifted so that he was leaning on the angel, head drooping down to rest on his shoulder.

_You know_, Aziraphale thought a little later, keeping even his thoughts quiet and gentle, _I don’t think I’d much want to go to the shop right now anyway, even if it hadn’t burned down. _

_Come to my flat, _Crowley said.

_Thank you. _

Aziraphale spent the rest of the ride enjoying the experience of brushing up against Crowley physically and otherwise. He didn’t bother trying to hide his simple pleasure in it.

* * *

Walking in to see the remains of Ligur on the floor was not the best homecoming Aziraphale may have wished for. With a thought, and without waiting to consult Crowley, he cleaned the puddle of demonic remains, got rid of the bucket, and scoured the rest of the room to ensure that no molecule of holy water remained to threaten his friend.

“Awful reminder,” he said by way of explanation.

“Yeah, suppose so.”

Crowley walked to the kitchen and produced a bottle of wine and two glasses. They drank most of the first pour without saying anything, just standing in the kitchen, resting up against the high counter.

“Seeing Ligur like that,” Crowley said abruptly. “It’s. Well. I reckon that’s what they’ll have in store for me. Poetic, like.”

Aziraphale took in a cautious breath, tamping down the chill that crept over him as the demon’s words forced on him the very image he’d been trying so assiduously to avoid since they entered the flat.

“I imagine my lot will be as...thorough. Best we make sure we’re ready.”.

“What are we even going to do,” Crowley asked dully. “What is there to prepare?”

After another drink of wine, Aziraphale answered thoughtfully. “You know, I may have an idea. Today, in the Bentley, Hastur couldn’t tell that I was there, correct?”

“Yeah. And?”

“What if we—what if we swapped? Corporations, that is.” Aziraphale watched Crowley’s face as he explained the thought. “What if I went down as you, and you went up to Heaven. We already know you can withstand hellfire. I’d be fine in holy water. Maybe...we’ll puzzle them so thoroughly they’ll leave us alone.”

“They’d know.”

“How? They wouldn’t! They know we’ve been working together, I grant you, but I’d wager they don’t know how long. Probably think it’s a recent development. I think I could do a passable imitation of you, my dear, and anyway—I don’t think they know we can do this. The quartermaster, he said that angels can’t possess bodies. Why should they suspect what they know is impossible?”

Crowley stayed quiet as he thought the argument over. “It would probably get us breathing room,” he said at length.

Aziraphale nodded. “One way or another, I believe our days of trying to hide would be behind us.”

Crowley nodded and seemed pleased by the notion. In an abrupt switch, he suddenly gave an impish grin.

“I know what you’re playing at, angel,” he said with a sly look.

“I beg your pardon?”

“_You’re_ just trying to get a feel for these hips again.”

Aziraphale gasped in mock outrage. “Why, you fiend!”

“No, I could hear you, remember? Oh, you didn’t know quite _what _to make of it, but you were _very _attentive.”

Aziraphale felt himself blushing at his friend’s good-natured ribbing.

And then he had a thought—several thoughts all in quick succession, really. They were quiet, private sorts of thoughts that he desperately hoped were not apparent to the demon, although he supposed it wouldn’t matter in a few moments anyway.

What he thought was this: They had survived. They had survived, and they were _going _to survive, and they’d declared themselves to be on their own side. They’d chosen the Earth, and each other, over their respective offices. And he was here, in Crowley’s home, and he loved him. That last bit was not a revelation. It was a knowledge that had burned inside him for thousands of years, always carefully hidden away. And now he could share it, let the sun shine on it. And he very much wanted to.

So he fought through his blush and said, as evenly as possible, “I was. Paying attention.”

Crowley’s grin froze. He seemed taken quite off-guard by Aziraphale’s direct response.

“You know,” the angel said, this time with a smile all his own, “I find your body quite attractive.”

It was, as opening lines went, not very good—he had, after all, not had any real practice in this area. The look on Crowley’s face as he sputtered vague half-words in response, however, was a very pleasing result.

Aziraphale pushed the point. “Not half so attractive as your_self_, mind you,” he said relentlessly.

At this point Crowley put his glass down clumsily and sank limply to the floor, where he sat slumped against the side of the counter. His eyes were wide as he looked up at Aziraphale, and his hands were shaking.

“Aziraphale,” he said hoarsely, “that’s not funny, you know that’s not funny, you _know_—”

“You know I mean it,” Aziraphale said solemnly, and he knelt down and took Crowley’s hands in his own. Cautiously, looking for any sign that this wasn’t welcome, he projected out all the love and admiration he felt for the demon—not just instances from this awful day, when they’d been side-by-side and sharing everything, and not just from the past week, when the stakes were so high, but from the very beginning. From the moment Crowley gave him his first shred of reassurance on the wall of Eden. All his respect for his friend, his endless gratitude. All his _desire_. Six thousand years of stolen glances, of covetous looks. Six thousand years of excuses to talk with him. Six thousand years of his heart beating faster when Crowley was near, of the lightness and _rightness _he felt in his presence.

Amidst the surge of his own emotions and memories, he was aware of shock and delight from Crowley, but he was so caught up in the flash of images and feelings that it wasn’t until the demon pulled him down into a fierce hug that he fully returned to their present circumstances.

There, on the floor of Crowley’s kitchen, he half-knelt over Crowley, one hand on the floor to support himself and the other behind the demon’s upper back, holding him and pulling him as close to himself as it was possible to be. And then Crowley was kissing him, and he was kissing Crowley. It was inelegant and perfect, and as soon as it was done he kissed Crowley again, and then again. He wondered at the softness of his lips, at the warmth everywhere their faces touched.

Somehow they maneuvered so that he was no longer over Crowley but beside him, and didn’t need to use an arm to support himself, which meant he had the leisure to use both to explore Crowley. The demon’s hands roamed over his own torso and thighs while he ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, feeling the silky smoothness of it, hearing the catch in Crowley’s breath when he wrapped his fingers around locks of hair and pulled ever so gently. Then Crowley was pushing at Aziraphale’s coat and fumbling with his tie and then, frustrated, gave it up and just clung to him, pulling at Aziraphale as if he couldn’t possibly get him close enough to suit him. They both broke the kiss to take in a completely unnecessary gasp of air, and then he buried his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck.

Then he was crying, and he thought that perhaps Crowley was crying also, but they kissed again and he could _feel _his friend’s elation ringing through his very being. Even in their tears, he was delighted.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered into his ear, nuzzling at the side of Crowley’s temple. “I am so sorry I ever gave you cause to doubt.”

“I’m sorry I doubted.”

Aziraphale hushed him. “No,” he said softly. “Never be, my dear. My love.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale felt spirals of joy shoot through him, “say it again.”

“I’ll say it forever. My love.”

“_Angel_,” Crowley said as he renewed his efforts to undo Aziraphale’s bowtie. “You said it then, at the airfield. I thought I couldn’t have heard you right.”

“I love you,” Aziraphale repeated for good measure, and he took pity on the demon and helped him with the tie and the first button of his own shirt before returning his hands to their exploration of Crowley’s hair and neck and shoulders.

Crowley made no response except to kiss him more fervently. He felt the demon’s lips open under his, and then the wet warmth of his tongue, and then the taste of it against his own, and he let out a moan. This caused Crowley to redouble his efforts, and shortly he was pinned down with Crowley over him, Crowley parting his shirt and vest, Crowley laying a trail of slow, reverent kisses down the side of his face and neck.

“We’re going to make it,” Aziraphale said.

“Yes. Sure. Anything you say.” Crowly continued his kisses, twisting his way around until he reached the hollow of Aziraphale’s collarbone halfway to his shoulder, where he lavished him with little licks that made Aziraphale’s breath hitch.

“It’ll work and then we’ll be safe.”

“Absolutely, whatever you want,” Crowley said, dragging the tip of his nose through the white-blond hairs covering Aziraphale’s chest, moving down towards his stomach.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yes, completely,” Crowley agreed, and Aziraphale laughed as if the world was new. He hugged the demon close, pouring all his bright happiness into the touch, and kissed the top of his head.

“My dearheart,” he said.

“Yes?” Crowley was now halfway down to Aziraphale’s waist, kissing and touching as he went.

“Would you be terribly put out if I said I wanted to go to bed?”

“Angel, bed is _exactly _where I want you right now.”

Aziraphale laughed again, and kissed him again, and somehow they managed to both get standing while also landing several haphazard kisses on each other’s hands, shoulders, and faces. Their progress down the hallway was slow, as they stopped frequently to touch and to marvel at it all.

There was a sort of merry earnestness to it. They were not grave or somber, nor was their laughter wild and gaudy. They were merely open and close, bodies and minds united as never before, and Aziraphale didn’t think he could be anything _but _overjoyed to be so honest with this, his dearest friend and love.

Unclothing Crowley in his bedroom was a privilege he never thought he’d merit, and he enjoyed every moment of it. Each new revelation of his flesh enthralled him—as did each of Crowley’s reactions to his gentle touches. He looked forward to many future opportunities for such activities.

They were both quiet as they got into bed; Crowley pulled up the covers and held them open for Aziraphale to slide in next to him, and then pulled them tight around his shoulder so that they were touching, and covered, together in the darkness.

Aziraphale listened to Crowley’s breath and traced the outlines of his body with reverent hands. It was enough, it was more than enough, more than he’d ever dared hope. And then to be able to simply lean forward and kiss him, to taste his lips and the spice of his skin—an impossible reality.

He shared his wonder and awe with Crowley mind-to-mind, reinforcing his delight and gratitude at this pleasure and receiving the same back.

Eventually, Crowley pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and then paused for a moment. Aziraphale could feel his hesitation.

“What is it?”

“I’m—would it be all right if we slept?”

Aziraphale smiled, although he didn’t think Crowley could see it in the dark, and hugged him.

“Of course. You sleep, love. I’ll be here.”

“You’ll be _bored_.”

“I hardly think so,” he said, with a meaningful squeeze of his hand where it lay on Crowley’s waist.

“There’s some books, out in the study.”

“I’m sure one of those will do wonderfully if I need it,” he reassured him.

“We’ll swap, then, in the morning?”

“Good thing we worked that out before...all the rest. Yes, we’ll swap in the morning.”

“And you’ll be—here?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Crowley.”  
  


* * *

He woke Crowley in the morning with feather-light kisses to his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the lobes of his ears, until the demon was fully awake and reciprocating.

It was horrible, then, to prepare for what would come next. They _ought _to make it, they had made reasonable assumptions about what awaited them both in Heaven and in Hell and were doing what they could to mitigate the risk of it—but what if they were wrong? What if it wasn’t hellfire that Heaven had planned for him? What if someone guessed their game?

It was no use worrying. They’d done what they could, and he would have to trust that it would all work out.

Crowley caught his concern and soothed him with tender touches and soft nonsense words, holding him close until the angel felt he could put on a brave face.

Then, by mutual agreement, they switched. The sensation was no stranger, perhaps, than what they’d done yesterday, but it _was _strange all the same: he looked out of Crowley’s eyes at his own corporation, and saw Crowley taking stock of his body and grinning.

“You know—” Crowley said with Aziraphale’s own voice, a distinctly tempting twinkle in his eye, “—you know, there are certain possibilities, with—”

“Plenty of time for that later,’ Aziraphale interrupted, feeling his cheeks heat, having caught most of the salient details from the demon’s thoughts. They hadn’t even had sex in their _own _bodies yet.

Crowley just laughed, and it was with the memory of that laugh that Aziraphale set out to wander London in the hopes of being apprehended, and surviving, and being free.  
  


* * *

The lunch at the Ritz that afternoon was the best Aziraphale had ever tasted. It had, he was sure, something to do with the giddiness of success. It had, he suspected, _more _to do with the anticipation he felt and that he knew Crowley felt. Not merely anticipation of immediate pleasures, but of all the rest of time stretching out before them. They needed no excuse, they had no need to rush, they had no head office to worry about. So he sipped his champagne and laughed at Crowley’s jokes and toasted _to the world_, but at least part of what he meant was _to the future_.

And then the future was arriving; they left the Ritz and walked hand-in-hand in the light of day and every step they took together was a sort of salvation.

They returned to Crowley’s flat and this time there was no reminder of the apocalypse to greet them on the floor, only memories from the previous night—only Crowley’s gentle hands taking his coat and hanging it up carefully, only Crowley kneeling and undoing the laces of his oxfords and supporting him as he stepped out of them, only Crowley leading him once again to the bedroom. Aziraphale followed him closely, his heart light and achingly full.

“Love you,” Crowley whispered as he undid the buttons of the angel’s vest.

“Love you,” Crowley whispered as Aziraphale worked loose his belt and untucked his shirt.

“Love you,” Crowley whispered as they both sank, naked, onto the bed.

Aziraphale kissed him, slowly and surely, with a confidence he would not have believed possible before that morning. That kiss cracked the seal of whatever self-restraint they had been exerting, and in an instant the tide of his desire overtook him and he clutched at Crowley as if he might slip through his fingers.

But he did not. He was there, solid, welcoming, and eager. _Very _eager, Aziraphale noticed—but then, he supposed, so was he.

Crowley caught the tail end of that thought and laughed and deepened their kiss. His two hands came up to hold Aziraphale’s head and curl through his hair, and then Crowley moved so that he was sitting over Aziraphale’s lap in intimate contact. The demon let out a hissing breath and ground against Aziraphale’s cock. The only answer Aziraphale could make to that was to take Crowley in hand, to stroke his cock as the demon continued to move against him.

Crowley reached out and shared the sensation with him, and it was everything Aziraphale could do to not come right at that moment. _Feeling _the effect of his touch, feeling Crowley’s craving compounded with his own, almost undid him.

Aziraphale was wholly himself and wholly in his own body, as Crowley was in his, but he felt too that there was a space where they were _together, _the togetherness which had begun with their first shared smile in Eden and been renewed as they shared Crowley’s corporation just the day before, the togetherness of intentional sharing, of vulnerability and trust. In that togetherness he felt Crowley’s being twine with his own, and they shared their joys, and their joys were redoubled because they were shared.

He sat up, Crowley’s cock still in hand, and pressed kisses to the base of the demon’s neck, and his collar, and his shoulders. As he stroked, he moved his head down and licked first one of Crowley’s nipples, then the other, and was rewarded by a gasp of want as Crowley dug his fingers into Aziraphale’s back.

Crowley turned Aziraphale’s head up for a proper kiss. He pressed his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth and then bit a little at his lips, and Aziraphale didn’t know what to _do _with this great need he had. He kissed him back and then wrapped both arms around Crowley to lift him up, to turn him over, to lay him down gently on his back, facing up, with Aziraphale kneeling, devoted, between his legs.

He began tasting the skin of Crowley’s hips while his hands traced the insides of his thighs. Then he licked his way down the trail of shock-red hair that started below the demon’s belly and led down to his cock, and then he licked that, too, and chuckled as Crowley let out a soft expletive. One hand returned to stroking Crowley’s cock; the other held onto the inside of one of the demon’s thighs, his thumb stroking at the sensitive skin between his legs.

Aziraphale licked his lips. This was entirely new to him. He wasn’t unconscious of carnal desires—quite the opposite, he rather felt—but he had never shared this sort of experience before. Were it not for the steady reassurance of Crowley’s quick breathing and overflowing aura of enjoyment, he didn’t know that he’d have the courage for it. As it was, though, he bent his head and licked from the bottom of Crowley’s shaft up to the very top, and then took him in his mouth.

As Crowley dug the fingers of one hand into Aziraphale’s shoulder and the other into his hair, Aziraphale wondered whether he might drag this moment out for a while—perhaps a month or two, since these bodies didn’t really need things like food or sleep—but then, he supposed, that would preclude enjoying other activities in the short term. The point was, he reminded himself as he licked and sucked, that this was not their only chance. That he could be with Crowley whenever he liked, could have Crowley’s cock in his mouth whenever they wanted that to happen, and he didn’t need to fear this moment ending, because another one like it (but also infinitely, delightfully unique, he was sure) would come along after. They were free, and Crowley was enjoying himself, and Aziraphale allowed himself to enjoy the moment, to not throttle it in fear of losing it.

He pressed a little harder with his thumb behind Crowley’s balls and paid attention to the sort of movements he made with his mouth and how Crowley responded to each of them. Before long, the demon was whispering nonsensical obscenities and tensing the muscles of his abdomen and legs, circling closer to his climax.

Aziraphale was all but trembling when he reached one hand between Crowley’s thighs, slicked with his own saliva, to feel him gently. Crowley didn’t flinch, didn’t hide at all from the exploration; indeed, he seemed eager for it. Slowly, making sure not to let the rhythm of his mouth falter, Aziraphale pressed one finger inside Crowley and moved it ever so softly.

Crowley _whined_.

After giving his love time to adjust, Aziraphale added another finger and half-curled them both, stroking Crowley from the inside with his fingers and from the outside with his thumb, and still sucking him with his mouth, and that was it—suddenly Crowley was coming, was repeating Aziraphale’s name over and over, was grabbing at him with greedy hands, and his pleasure pulsed through the air and soared through Aziraphale’s being until he ached with it.

He swallowed and planted heavy, wet kisses along Crowley’s thighs and stomach, then allowed himself to be pulled up to Crowley’s face. He hid his face in the hollow of Crowley’s neck and nibbled on the demon’s ear and whispered praises to him, all the while feeling the warmth of the demon’s body beneath his own.

“Please my love,” he breathed after he had tasted all the edge of Crowley’s ear and wrung more soft sounds from him, “may I fuck you?”

Crowley growled and turned his face until he was able to kiss his mouth, his lips demanding, his movements almost vicious.

“If you don’t, I won’t be held responsible for what I do.”

Aziraphale laughed as he returned his fingers to the business of preparing Crowley, smiled as he heard the demon’s long, indulgent sigh as he filled him with first two fingers, then three, working steadily and murmuring words of encouragement as he went. Then Crowley became insistent, began pleading, and again Aziraphale had to turn most of his attention to withstanding the heady impulse of that wanton delight.

He kissed Crowley as he entered him, then he held as still as he could while they both adjusted to the sensation.

“Love,” he said in the stillness. “Oh, my love.”

Crowley didn’t answer except to wrap his legs around Aziraphale’s waist, his arms around his neck, and pull him close. They began moving together, slowly at first and then more surely as Aziraphale began to trust that he wouldn’t ruin the moment with motion. Aziraphale felt a warmth growing in him, beginning everywhere they touched and spreading out to cover him in a buzz of electric joy. He kissed Crowley as he thrust into him, kissed his lips and his chin and his beautiful throat.

Crowley’s nails scraped gently down Aziraphale’s back, and Crowley’s wicked tongue whispered his name, and it was altogether enough: Aziraphale came with a shout of exultation, came pressing himself in as close to his love as he could, came with the feeling of Crowley being _with _him, connected physically and spiritually.

All was still. For a moment, the whole Earth may well have stood still as Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes and saw his approval, as they shared their repletion and satiety.

Then he withdrew, and lowered himself onto the bed beside Crowley, and wrapped his arms around him.

_Angel_, Crowley thought at him. There were no other words, just impressions and half-feelings and drowsy contentment.

Aziraphale smiled and kissed his cheek, and held him until the demon drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fic comes form a Kafka quote that gave both curlycrowley and I instant Ineffable Husbands feels:  
“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.”
> 
> This fic owes a tremendous debt to Phoenix.Writing at fanfiction(.)net and [The Problem With Purity](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4776976/1/The-Problem-with-Purity) which is essentially the fic that made me want to write fic. Their interpretation of Legilimency and creation of MindSpeech is something I borrowed from heavily for this fic’s representation of possession. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'd absolutely love to hear what you think down in the comments!


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